


Run, Little Deer

by thegirlnamedcove



Series: Kinktober 2017 by Cove [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Biting, Blood, Blood Kink, Breathplay, Dirty Talk, Forest Sex, Kinktober, Kinktober 2017, M/M, Outdoor Sex, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Prey - Freeform, Rough Sex, Sensory Deprivation, Werewolves, chasing kink, highly unsanitary, is that a thing?, unbetaed, well it is for me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2019-01-10 02:13:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12289053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegirlnamedcove/pseuds/thegirlnamedcove
Summary: There's a spot in the preserve that Derek knows well, with no roots or pricker bushes to trip someone like Stiles, and a soft bed of moss should he find a way to fall anyway.Which is good, because Derek intends to chase him. And he intends to catch him.





	Run, Little Deer

The preserve was humming with activity.  The night made the woods look thick and tangled, too dark to make out individual roots, but there was one place deep off the trails that Derek knew, and it was that spot he was leading them to.

Stiles had stripped off back at the Jeep, parked along a service road and constantly looking over his shoulder for one of the deputies to pop up out of nowhere and arrest him for having sex within his father’s jurisdiction. It was August, four months into this new  _ thing _ with Derek and the night air was finally warm enough for them to tick this off their list.

Derek led him by the arm, a tense set to his jaw. His eyes glowed blue under his lashes, scanning the ground in front of them and picking out the safest route. At a rustle in the underbrush he froze, holding Stiles fast, and Stiles knew better than to argue. A beat passed in silence, then another, and they finally started walking again.

After an hour of walking, Derek reached out and pulled back the branches of a thorny tree and a clearing was revealed, inky and open to the sky, stretching farther than Stiles’ eyes could make out. Derek urged him forward and he went, his heart in his throat at the sudden unsureness of his feet. The crunch of leaves and pine needles gave way to a soft moss and he knelt for just a moment to take off his shoes, finally completely naked and vulnerable.

Behind him a growl crept through the air, wrapping around him, and he dropped his stance on instinct. The submissive slope of his spine as he dropped his head forward had come naturally the first time a girlfriend had placed a possessive hand on the back of his neck and it was even stronger now, accompanied by all kinds of things that he knew Derek liked. He shook his hands loose where they had clenched into fists by his sides and widened his stance, rolled the tension out of his shoulders so they stooped down and away from his neck. Everything about him broadcast, ‘I will not fight back’.

The growling grew louder, and then Derek was in his space, a warm presence at his back. Two hands came into his field of vision, quick and efficient, and then even that was gone. He tied off the blindfold at the back of his skull tightly, and probed at the edges with his fingertips to ensure that even the meager light of the quarter moon couldn’t make its way to Stiles’ eyes. Over that, he tugged on a hood, the thick cotton breathable, but only just. His breath came hot and moist against his own skin and he felt his heart ratcheting higher and higher.

Derek skimmed the palms of his hands down Stiles’ sides, dipping forward to dig into the fat of his thighs briefly, and hooked his chin over his shoulder. He shuddered, but stayed in position, palms turned out. Derek nosed against the side of the hood, taking snuffling little breaths of what Stiles guessed had to be lust and fear twined together, and then he pressed his lips against the cloth and said:

“Get going, little deer.”

He didn’t question the order, taking his first steps forward as quickly as he could. The ground was wet and soft, squishing between his toes, and the tiny hills and valleys of animal tracks made it hard to stay upright. Without his sight he had no balance to speak of, and even though he knew there was nothing to catch himself on he splayed his arms out ahead of him, searching for anything.

He managed a slow trot without tripping, and wanted to be pleased with himself, but the silence was insidious. It felt like he should have hit the other side by now, or at least he should have started to smell the lavender that Derek said grew like a weed all around the southern half of the preserve, and would serve as his finish line.

The hood muffled a lot of sound and a lot of smell, but the absence of both in that instance felt like more than that.

He heard a shuffling off to his left and let out a shriek against his will. He stumbled away from it, arms casting around, and started to whimper as he lost his footing. One knee hit the ground, and then a thigh, and then he was scrambling on hands and knees to get away from the noise, soft presses of motion now that sounded like something prowling. He could hear the dirt shifting, wetly, and somebody breathing, but he couldn’t see and he couldn’t smell, and he didn’t know if it was Derek or not, and he had to get away. He pushed harder against the mossy forest floor, managing to half-right himself, before a body struck his own and he went down onto his stomach. The hood was wet where it touched his cheeks, and he realized his was crying.

“Meat,” the man said, and that was definitely Derek’s voice in his ear. He went pliant, but his adrenaline didn’t lessen, still pushing him to either fight or freeze. He shuddered and whimpered and pushed against the hold above him but it was useless. He wouldn’t receive any mercy, or any pity, from the wolf above him.

Pain lanced through his shoulder as eight fangs sunk into the flesh there and he sobbed.

Suddenly the cloth covering Derek’s legs was pushed down, sweatpants Stiles remembered dimly, and there was a cock at his entrance, hard like steel. Fingers gripped at the bone of his hip, pressing so hard he thought he might as well have heard creaking. A tongue laved roughly over the bite mark on his skin. When had the teeth pulled out and away?

“Color?”

The word didn’t make sense to him at first, just a guttural noise barely audible through the hood and over the sound of his own panting, but then a smack against his flank brought him back to some clarity.

“ _ Color _ , meat.”

“Guh-- green. Dom.”

The only answer he got was a growl, low and animal, pressed into his shoulder blade. He felt lips there, kissing him, a tender reassurance, and then Derek was pushing in and he was so glad he’d spent the time to work himself open to three fingers earlier because there was no deference in his dom’s movements. He wasn’t angling and searching for Stiles’ prostate, he wasn’t building speed over time to let the muscles adjust. He was quick and forceful, growls growing louder as he gnashed his teeth in his mouth and his claws peeked out of the end of his fingers. Stiles’ hips ground against the dirt under him, the only stimulation he would be receiving at least for now, and he started crying in earnest, interspersed with quiet moans of pleasure at being so used.

Suddenly a hand was at his throat, and he hadn’t noticed Derek moving but the fingers dug in all the same. He compressed the arteries there, just enough to make Stiles’ feel lightheaded, and Stiles arced his back and finally started thrusting back towards Derek as much as he could.

“So perfect. Let me do whatever--” he snarled and his voice broke in his throat, “whatever I want. You let me hurt you, and let me chase you, because you know what you are, don’t you little deer?”

Stiles nodded, or tried to, his movements still restricted by Derek’s hand against the column of his neck.

“I know what you are too. So I’ll fill your ass up with cum, and you’ll fill my belly with blood, and then I’ll let you go to stumble around, looking for another predator.”

He shook his head, hard, and tried to force anything past his lips. It was overwhelming, his whole world narrowing down to just the sense of touch, and every point of contact between him and Derek was electrified. Finally, he managed a few syllables, muffled under the hood, and Derek yanked it up and away to expose Stiles’ mouth to the cool air.

“No. No one else. Yours.”

“Oh yeah?” Derek huffed a laugh and dragged his teeth along Stiles’ skin. He loosed his grip and slowed his thrusts to something more languid, more controlled, “You want me to take you home? Want me to keep you? Little pet for me to fuck?”

Stiles whimpered and tilted his hips, trying to find a good angle.

“Please.”

“Please what?” Derek asked.

“Please keep me.”

At that the hand was back on his throat and the fangs were back in his skin, and he shouted as Derek pumped into him in earnest. He shifted around this time, acquiescing that little bit to Stiles’ needs, until he found his prostate and started hammering against it. Stiles gasped, stars bursting in his eyes against the still all-consuming darkness, and he heard Derek mumble something against his skin, and then he was coming, hot and messy into the ground.

He tapped at Derek’s forearm and he released his throat, bracing himself instead on both elbows and chasing his own pleasure until he was spilling into Stiles and grunting, little contented lupine sounds.

Fingers found Stiles’ cheeks where they were poking out of the bottom of the hood and then it was being pried up and away. Derek turned his chin and kissed him, slow and deep, and Stiles sank into it. The knot of the blindfold loosened. It fell away from his face. He blinked against the impossible brightness of the night around him, and nuzzled in the rough direction of Derek’s face as his mind slowly floated away.

 

***

 

In the car, on the way home, he started to come back into his body. Derek had guided him into a long robe and pajama pants but he was still grimey underneath them and he squirmed in his seat at the feeling of cum leaking out of his ass.

“Color?” Derek asked, and Stiles snorted. Always conscientious, his wolf, even when he’d just given the roughest fuck the two of them had managed.

He shifted and then settled, head propped against the glass of the window and eyes half-lidded as he considered Derek.

“Green. Comma, hungry. Parenthesis, disgusting.”

Derek smirked, but kept his eyes on the road.

“Well I can get you home and feed you. Draw us a bath. But I refuse to get rid of the filth, that was something you promised me I could keep.”

Stiles didn’t have a lot of strength, after the night’s entertainment, but he summoned what was there to stick out his tongue and blow a raspberry.

**Author's Note:**

> Ended up making my second kinktober thing a sequel to the first one. I'm trying to resist the urge to write all of them about Stiles and Derek and just have it be one long story about the evolution of their kinky relationship. That sounds awesome, but like also other characters deserve love too. I've long felt that Isaac Lahey would be an excellent dom, he has that quiet visciousness about him. But I may end up doing a straight Sterek thing, who even knows?
> 
> I want someone to chase me in the woods. Also, I ended up looking up pictures (read: porn) for this story and let me tell you, the idea of sensory deprivation sounds amazing but from the dom's perspective that is the goofiest looking nonsense ever. I don't know how any dom keeps a straight face while the sub is taking their sexual journey of the mind inside their hood.


End file.
